Melting Snow
by xtheGoldenEaglex
Summary: Following the attack on Hardhome, Jon Snow has no other choice but to pursue the only possible ally they have left. Commander Leksa only wants what is best for her people, but with the Skagosi refusing to fight against an unseen enemy and the Night's Watch's growing resentment towards their commander's wildling sentimentality, an alliance proves to be almost impossible. Jon Snow/OC
1. Heda kom Skagos

_**Author's Note:** Hello, thanks for clicking! The idea just wouldn't go away and I had to get it down, you know? Anyway, just a little background – Skagos is an actual place in the ASOIAF universe that hasn't yet been discovered. My imagination went wild so I created a back-story for it. Basically, it was an island with a lot of rivalling clans led by "hedas" (a term I stole from the awesome CW show the 100) and three magnars (a canon term that means 'lord' in the Old Tongue) until Commander Leksa (a character named after and based on Lexa from the 100) united them. A lot of the story will have dialogue in the Old Tongue, if its not explained its because the narrator doesn't speak the language. Anyway, sorry for the long author's note! Hope ya like the chapter!_

* * *

 **Chapter One  
** **Heda kom Skagos**

With a look of fierce concentration on his face and narrowed eyes, Rickon Stark raised his swords and swallowed a large lump in his throat as his opponent, another one of the Dagheda's wards, charged towards him with a loud battle cry, his axe raised high in the air.

Rickon stepped aside to the left and allowed his opponent to stumble past him. Just as his opponent was about to turn around and try again, Rickon kicked him in the leg, unbalancing him, and let the boy fall to the ground. That was when he pointed one of his swords to the boy's neck, effectively declaring his victory.

" _You fight well,"_ he heard the Dagheda say in the Old Tongue that the Skagosi spoke. Rickon understood a few words, though he found that he was understanding more and more each day he spent on the island. Rickon turned around to face Dagheda Leksa, who had a rare, small smile on her face. _"You're beginning to fight like us,_ Rickon kom Fronoshaq. _With instinct and strength instead of silly, useless honour and..."_

He couldn't understand what she said after that. _"What does that mean, Dagheda?"_

The Dagheda smiled again. _"You know how the southern knights fight, with twirls and silly movements."_ She went on to speak in the common tongue, her accent clear and like how the northerners spoke. "Embellishment, I believe the word is. We have no use for it in Skagos."

From the bench where Osha sat, sharpening a knife, Shaggy was stalking towards them, his green eyes almost menacing, though there was no threat near. Shaggy had made sure that the other wards hadn't come near him, since some of them thought that, because he was from the land, he wasn't worthy of the Dagheda's tutelage. Shaggy would bark at them and glare fiercely, and the Skagosi children would leave him be.

The youngest Stark rubbed his direwolf companion beneath his ear, causing Shaggy to let out a pleased growl. The Dagheda chuckled. _"You may relax for a while, Rickon. You've proven yourself today."_

"Dagheda," Rickon started when the commander had turned her back to him, about to walk away. The Dagheda turned around to him as he prepared the words of the foreign language in his head. _"May I be guard to you someday?"_

He didn't even know if daghedas had guards. Nonetheless, Dagheda Leksa gave a small laugh and said thoughtfully, _"You might be much more than that,_ Rickon kom Fronoshaq."

Before he could ask her what she meant – what could possibly be more than a guard to the Dagheda? – she had turned around and left the training yard. Rickon scratched Shaggy under the ear one last time and went over to Osha, his direwolf following closely beside him.

He sat on the bench beside Osha and continued to rub Shaggy's fur. He hadn't been spending enough time with his direwolf lately, so consumed in becoming a warrior that he had forgotten about everything but improving his skills at combat.

As if she hadn't yet noticed his presence, Osha continued to glare down at the knife in her hand and sharpen it violently. Rickon was afraid to say anything, considering that she was obviously in a foul humour _and_ she had a knife in her hand. Eventually, she paid notice to him and began to speak.

"I don't trust that woman," she whispered fiercely, urgently.

"Why?" Rickon asked, genuinely bewildered. The Dagheda had been nothing but kind to them both, even if she was cold at times. "She took us in. And she's been training me!"

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Osha said. She finally placed the knight and the whetstone beside her on the bench. "Why did she take us in? Why didn't she sell us to some southern lord for a few swords or grain?"

"Why did we come to Skagos if you didn't trust the Skagosi?" Rickon countered. He didn't see an issue with anything. For the first time since Father left Winterfell, he was feeling happy. If only Bran was with him, and Mother, and Robb and the girls...

"I trusted the Skagosi all right," Osha said bitterly. "As long as they didn't know who we were, we were safe. But then you had to blurt your name out at the first sign of danger like it made you untouchable-"

"But it did, didn't it?" Rickon replied, a little smug. "Once I told them who I was, they didn't touch us and the Dagheda has been nice to us since. I don't know why you're worrying."

"Because what does she gain by 'being nice to us'?" Osha asked. "You don't know the Free Folk like I do. We don't do things to 'be nice', we do things because it'll make life easier or because we'll get something out of it. You have no lands, no family in high places... I don't want to be sour, little lord, but the Dagheda wants something from you."

 _But what?_ Like Osha said, he had no lands, no family in high places. What would anyone want with _him_?

"Or, maybe she's different?" Rickon suggested hopefully. As much as he wanted to believe that Osha was wrong, that they were safe here, Rickon was beginning to see that Osha had a point.

"Hmm." Osha stared off into the distance with a blank expression on her face. She was worried – Rickon could tell – and, perhaps, a little fearful. That made Rickon worry. It took a lot to make Osha afraid. Slowly and with careful hands, the wildling picked up the knife and the whetstone again, sharpening the knife's edge with rigid, sudden movements. "Don't worry about it too much, little lord. Just keep an eye on them, you hear?"

He nodded, his mind elsewhere as he continued to rub Shaggy beneath his ear absent-mindedly.

* * *

The wind nearly blew him off the mountain as Jon trudged through mud to get to the Skagosi town of Dagdar, where Tormund believed the wildling Skagosi commander dwelled. The more he saw of Skagos, the less he wanted them as allies. Wildlings were different to those south of the Wall, that he knew, but the Skagosi were like a different race altogether, with their foreign tongues and their violent ways.

At least his beard hadn't turned to ice as it had north of the Wall. There was no snow in the few days he had been on the island – only wind and rain – which was an improvement from Beyond-the-Wall.

"There has to have been an easier route," Edd commented, breathless and panting. "Even a horse couldn't make it up this mountain."

"That's the point," Tormund Giantsbane said gruffly. He too was panting for breath. Jon couldn't deny that he was as well. "The Skagosi hate each other just as much as we do."

"Remind me then, why do we want them as allies?" Edd asked gruffly. Another ten steps and they'd be at the top. Jon wasn't sure if he'd make it.

"The skaggs are shits, I'll tell ya that much," Tormund admitted. "They'd do anything to get into a fight with anyone. But they're good warrior shits when they are at each other's throats. None o' ye ever seen a skagg fighting. They train their boys and girls as soon as they can walk!"

"Their girls?" Jon repeated. He was aware that wildlings let their women fight. Ygritte was allowed to fight at Castle Black. His stomach twisted and his heart ached. _Ygritte..._ No. He pushed all thoughts of the spearwoman out of his head. He had no time for mourning.

"O' course. You won't find no ladies in silk here, crow," Tormund said. "Though that's good news for you, isn't it, boy? You prefer yourself a spearwoman."

Jon didn't answer. Eventually, he hoped he'd have time to grieve. It had been months since Ygritte died, and he still hadn't had the chance. He was Lord Commander now, and there was the issue of the White Walkers, so he probably never would.

As they reached the mountains peak, a bustling city with a tall tower at the centre was revealed to them. They had made it. Jon stared at the great city of Dagdar, his mouth agape, revelling in being one of the first mainlanders from south of the Wall to step foot in the famous city in more than a century.

"The commander lives there." Tormund pointed his finger towards the tall tower amidst the small houses and shops.

The white tower showed its age, with moss growing everywhere on the magnificent structure. It was made of stone, fine stone too. Everything in the city seemed to be made of stone. The Skagosi didn't call themselves the 'Stone Men' for nothing, after all.

They walked towards the commander's tower with quick feet. Jon was surprised at how fast his legs were carrying him, considering how weary he felt. Perhaps it was the fear that drove him to walk faster. The Skagosi were observing them with cold, wary eyes. Their faces had paint on them, usually black paint. Some had only lines, others had painted their whole face black. Though he was now a man grown, the Skagosi still frightened him.

A tall man with black, braided hair that fell down to his backside and a face that was coloured in black glowered down at Jon. He only realised then that they were at the tower's door, which was heavily guarded by two broad-shouldered men and a small, slim, yet just as frightening, woman wielding a longsword.

"Kom trom don?" the tallest man barked.

"Eh," Tormund stumbled for words, looking around at their small entourage of Night's Watch men and wildlings. None of whom spoke the Old Tongue. Tormund looked back at the Skagosi man and gave him a sheepish smile.

Jon presumed that the warrior was asking who they were. That was what he hoped was said, because names were the only words that were mutually intelligible. "I am Jon Snow, Commander of the Night's Watch," Jon said in a firm voice, though he could hear his firm voice shaking. "And this is Tormund Giantsbane of the Free Folk. We have come to see your commander."

The tall guard shared a look with his companions before turning back to Jon. It was the woman who replied to him. "Dagheda is expecting you," the female guard told them. Jon couldn't hide his surprise. "She saw your water horses and is angry. You should tell her first of your arrival."

She? Jon snapped his head over to Tormund, his brows furrowed in confusion. Nobody told him that the commander was a woman. Tormund slowly shook his head in response, and Jon pressed his lips together and said nothing more on the subject.

"We didn't have time," Jon informed the guard. "We have to speak with your commander soon. Its urgent."

"About the Cold Ones?" the woman questioned. "We care not of monsters from Beyond-the-Wall. The Cold Ones find us not here with our wall of water."

"They attacked Hardhome," Tormund almost growled, taking a step towards the guard. The woman grabbed the handle of his sword, but Tormund was unfazed. "They killed hundreds of my people. And they'll attack you too. Fuck your water wall."

"Tormund," Jon warned. They didn't want to upset the Skagosi, their potential allies.

The woman stared at Tormund, the corner of her mouth peaking upwards in a snarl. "We will bring you to Dagheda," she said. "But you will be wasting time, Jon kom Kagasi. Time that you have not."

With one last look at each of Jon's companions, the woman nodded at the two other guards and began to lead them into the tower. The tallest guard – and the scariest – stayed at the door, while the woman and the smaller man led them inside. Jon was thankful for that.

The two guards muttered amongst themselves. From what Jon gathered, the woman's name was Essa and the man's was Dagg, and they were not pleased with their visitors. Jon didn't trust them either, but nevertheless he followed them. He still had his sword if anything went wrong.

They stopped outside a door and glanced unsurely at the visitors again. Finally, Essa nodded her head towards the door.

"Is the commander in here?" Jon asked.

"No," was all Essa said.

That seemed to be all the guard was going to say – or all she could say in the common tongue – so Jon merely nodded his head and circled his fingers around the knob. He looked to Tormund for direction, and the wildling gave him a nod. Jon opened the door, only to find a ridiculously small room.

"Inside," Essa commanded.

Were they trying to imprison him? Once again, Jon looked to Tormund, and the wildling, though shaken himself, nodded again. Jon took a deep breath and, against his better judgement, opened the door and stepped inside, with his companions following suit, and then finally the guards. Jon let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Why would the guards imprison themselves with him?

Silence ensued. Nobody said anything, and nothing was happening. Jon opened his mouth to question the guard, but just as words were about to come out of his mouth Dagg knocked on the wall with a rough fist, and then the room shook. Before Jon knew it, the room was rising.

"What's happening?" Edd asked in a high voice.

"We go to the Dagheda," Essa answered.

"Is this safe?" Jon questioned, pressing his hand against the wall for balance. They had something like this on the Wall, but theirs was much smaller and only three people, at the most, could fit in it.

"Safe? Yes. Men push and the chains let us rise," Essa told them. Jon didn't quite understand her, and neither did the others by the expressions on their faces. "It is this or thousands of steps."

"Good choice then," Edd commented with an approving nod, still visibly exhausted.

"How long more?" Jon asked the guard impatiently.

Essa narrowed her eyes at him, as did the other guard. "Soon," she replied coldly.

Jon balled his fists in frustration. But the guard was right, and they were at the top of the almost one hundred-story building only a few seconds later. The shaking stopped and the room moved violently one more time before Essa deemed it time to leave. She threw open the door and stepped out, while Dagg waited until all of them were out before following them.

Paintings and runes decorated the wallpaper of the top floor. What caught Jon's eye was a list of names, each of which was preceded by the title 'Dagheda' and most of which had a line drawn through the name save for the last one. _Dagheda Leksa kom Dagdar, Heda kom Skagos._ She was also the only one to be called the Heda kom Skagos, which made Jon a little curious.

"Come, Jon kom Kagasi," Essa commanded. Jon's head snapped over to look at her. She was standing in front of an enormous door with a glare etched on her face. Without saying anything else, Jon moved to stand beside her.

She stepped forward and knocked heavily on the great door before taking a step back, waiting patiently for the door to be opened for her.

It was. The sounds of chains rattling and the door squeaking echoed through the hall as the door was pulled open. This must be their last defence, this unyielding door. If Skagos was invaded their commander could stay in the throne room. It would take days to break down the door.

Once the two doors had parted, Jon made to enter the throne room along with Essa, but the warrior woman placed a hand on his abdomen and pushed him back. "No. You wait."

His brows furrowed in confusion as he stared after her. Essa fell onto one knee in front of the commander, her head bowed respectfully. She spoke to the commander in a much more formal voice that the one she used with him, or with Dagg, and spoke in the incomprehensible Old Tongue.

.Jon's eyes travelled towards the commander once she started speaking. She looked just as frightening as the rest of her people, with black paint surrounding her eyes and a knife in her hand. She sat upon a wooden throne lazily, with her free hand, the one not holding the knife, gripping the arm of the throne. There was a much older man beside her, whose white beard had flecks of pale gold in it. He was a man of average stature, and whose narrowed eyes gleamed with wisdom. _Like Maester Aemon._

Essa turned around to him and gave him a nod. It took Tormund pushing him forwards for Jon to realise that she meant for him to enter. With slow, unsteady feet he walked towards the commander's throne, trying not to look at the Skagosi's faces as he forced an impassive expression on his face. Like the wildlings, Jon imagined the Skagosi hated weakness. He couldn't show that he was afraid if they were to take him seriously.

He fell onto his knee in front of the commander. Wildlings never knelt, but it seemed as though the Skagosi did. He bowed his head politely. "Commander," he addressed, and then raised his head.

The commander was much younger than he expected. She probably thought the same of him.

"What gives a crow a right to speak to the Dagheda?" a man, another guard, barked. He stood a step lower than the commander, and was glowering viciously down at Jon.

"Strovo, Jamaun," the commander said forcefully, without taking her eyes away from Jon. Her eyes were narrowed and contemptuous. "Though he is right. What makes you think that you have a right to come to our land? Stand, crow."

"Its Jon Snow-"

"I know," she stressed. She spoke the Common Tongue just as well as Ygritte had, and Ygritte's clan only spoke the Common Tongue. "You haven't answered my question."

Jon inhaled a deep breath and climbed back onto his feet. He would have to speak carefully. Offending the commander would do him no good. "I've come to ask for men. The White Walkers have risen again, and we can't fight them on our own."

Commander Leksa straightened her back and sat closer to the edge of her seat. "And why should my people fight in a war that does not concern us? Or do the Cold Ones swim?" She spoke with a biting edge to mock him. Jon schooled his expression to seem uncaring.

"No. But they made it to Hardhome anyway, didn't they?" Jon said, and the commander's eyes narrowed again. Jon made himself stand taller. "I saw them. There's a whole army of them. Men, women and children – all woken from the dead and turned into White Walkers. They killed most of the free folk at Hardhome, and they'll do the same on Skagos if you give them the chance."

Jon paused and put his foot on a step before daring to climb onto it. Jamaun grabbed the handle of his sword and almost unshielded it just as the commander stopped him, her voice a harsh tone, though Jon didn't think anyone could speak the Old Tongue softly.

The commander gave him a small nod. "The dead are coming, commander," Jon told her. "They won't stop because there's a sea between you and them. They won't stop for children or their mothers. The only way for your people to be safe is if you help us. We can fight them together. We might not win, but at least we stand a chance."

For a few, long moments, Jon thought that the commander was going to do something rash, like imprison him or order someone to kill him. He had spoken boldly, but how else was he to convince the Skagosi to fight with them?

"And you, Tormund Giantsbane," the commander spoke finally, addressing the wildling beside Jon. "You are notorious here in Skagos. Fearless, ruthless Tormund of the Free Folk... our children grow up with tales of your greatness. Yet you have knelt to a _crow_."

"I never knelt," Tormund growled.

"But you follow him," the commander countered.

Tormund took a while to form his reply. "I trust him," was his response. "He's the only one who can get rid of those fuckers Beyond-the-Wall."

"And Mance Raydar?" Leksa asked. Jon could see Tormund falter slightly at the mention of the former King-Beyond-the-Wall. "Only two years ago I was told by one of your own that Mance was to be your saviour. That he had united the clans and would lead you south of the Wall, but the last time I spoke with a man of the free folk, I was told that Mance was dead, killed by a crow, and now you're following one. You even brought the crow to Hardhome to gather more men of the free folk to fight for him. That didn't end so well, did it? I was told that most of the wildlings were slaughtered, and few remain."

"There were other survivors?" Jon deduced. "Are they here?"

"Yes. One. A boy. Barely a man grown," the commander told him.

"Where is he?" Jon asked.

Calmly, with an emotionless expression, Leksa looked down at him and said in a cold voice. "Dead. I took his head when he told me what happened. He abandoned his people."

"He was running for his life," Jon said, breathless. "You haven't seen them... you don't know what its like."

"Perhaps," the commander replied. "But that is our way. It is also our way to avoid conflicts on the mainland that do not concern us. You expect my people to take up arms and fight against monsters they haven't seen? This is not our war."

"This is as much your war as it is ours," Jon insisted, pushing thoughts of that young boy aside. "The sea won't stop them. Nothing will. They'll come for you too."

Commander Leksa clenched her jaw, falling silent as she seemed to contemplate what he had just said. Jon felt a shiver crawl down his spine. All it took was a few words from the commander and every warrior in the room would attack them.

In a booming voice that echoed through the throne room, the commander spoke to the man beside her, whose name, as far as he could tell, was Ellek, without so much as glancing away from Jon for a second. Ellek nodded to the commander once she was finished, a somewhat pleased look on his face.

Leksa stood from her throne as Ellek departed. Jon didn't have a clue what she had said, or what she had decided. His heart pounded wildly against his chest. She could have decided to kill him and he didn't know it.

"Come, crow," the commander ordered.

She didn't wait for him and had already began walking out of the throne room. It took six men to pull the rope that opened the large doors that the commander was storming through. Jon wasn't sure if he should follow her. What if she was leading him into some prison? Tormund shot Jon a look, indicating the doors and to follow the commander. With one last reluctant look in Tormund's directions and another stern look from Tormund, Jon conceded and jogged out of the throne room to catch up with Commander Leksa.

"What was your decision? Will you help us?" Jon asked as he reached the commander's side.

"You think that I can simply command my people to get on ships and fight against monsters they've never seen?" Leksa asked in an even tone. "This is not your Seven Kingdoms, crow. Here, we don't blindly follow the commands of someone who might only have their own interests in mind."

"So what will you do?" Jon pressed, somewhat hopeful. Judging by how the commander was speaking, she wanted to help him.

"My flamebearer will send horses out to each of the nine hedas and the three magnars," Leksa told him as they entered the small room that had brought Jon from the bottom floor to the top. "We will hold a meeting, and then we will decide whether or not Skagos will fight in your war."

"I thought you were the heda," Jon said while Leksa knocked on the wall, just as Essa had done before.

"There are many hedas," she replied. "Each clan has a heda. We were not all united once. Up until six years ago, the clans fought amongst each for petty reasons. Dagdar has not always been the capital, you know, and the Dagheda has not always been the Heda kom Skagos."

"And what united them?" Jon questioned. He wanted to know what to expect, if the commander could only offer men from her own clan, or if she could offer men from the entire island of Skagos.

"Me," was her reply. Jon turned his head to look at her. She was of an age with him, perhaps a few years older, but not old enough to be what most had in mind when they thought of a peacemaker. But then again, neither was he.

The room did a familiar shake and rocked as it brought them down to the ground floor. Leksa didn't speak with him again, not until he prompted her to.

"Do you think the hedas will agree to let their armies fight with us?" Jon asked.

Leksa stared at the door. "I don't know. But I assure you, crow, that I will do all I can."

She pushed open the door and stepped out of the room, holding open the door for Jon to exit after her. Jon nodded stiffly towards her. He wasn't used to having doors held open for him by women. He wasn't used to being around women at all, but from what he remembered of the women in Winterfell, none of them ever held doors open for him.

They left the tower through a different door to the one Jon had entered through. It led out onto a balcony that overlooked the training yard below. Jon looked around for what the commander had brought him out to see, but he couldn't find anything of note, only children fighting each other. Two boys were fighting each other like grown men in battle, vicious and desperate for blood.

"Why did you bring me here?" Jon asked the commander, just as the fight between the two boys escalated. One of the boys had sliced the others arm open, and the injured boy had blood gushing from his wound, but that didn't stop either of them. He looked to Leksa, his eyes wide. "You should stop them. They're going to kill each other."

But the commander appeared unfazed, as though the thought of a young boy dying needlessly meant nothing to her. "That is our way," she told him. "If a warrior is not prepared to kill, then they should not be a commander. This is how we weed out the weak."

Jon was reminded of Old Nan's tales of the Skagosi people, that they were barbarians who ate the skins of the men they killed in battle. He could well believe it, from what he had seen, from how the commander reacted to the killing of a young boy.

The boy was stumbling, throwing his sword around aimlessly, only managing to cut his opponent's skin twice. One arm laid limp by his side, and the other arm was tired and moved sluggishly. His opponent kicked the boy's leg roughly and knocked him onto the ground before sliding the tip of his sword into his neck.

The Commander of the Night's Watch swallowed as blood spluttered out of the boy's mouth and dripped down onto his neck. Eventually, the boy's head lolled to the side, and he was definitely dead.

Leksa impassively looked down upon the scene in front of her, her green eyes cold. She turned behind her to one of the warriors and nodded at him, and the warrior marched onto the training yard to drag the dead boy's body away. Jon swallowed again, hoping to force down the lump in his throat.

"Why did you bring me here?" Jon repeated the same words he had said only a few moments ago, but this time with a little more force.

She shared a short look with him. Jon was confused, his brows knitting together. The commander looked back towards the training yard and raised her voice to a shout, "Rickon kom Fronoshaq!"

Rickon... Jon couldn't believe his ears. Rickon was supposed to be dead! He looked around the training yard until he finally spotted a young man who resembled the boy Jon remembered, who was fighting a young girl with a pair of swords. Leksa continued to shout something in the Old Tongue, but Jon barely heard her, too focused on his brother who was running up to them.

He was dressed in the leather the commander and her warriors wore, but unlike Leksa and her warriors, Rickon's face was free of paint. As Rickon ran up the steps as fast as his legs could carry him, Jon stepped forwards, disbelief etched on his face.

Rickon was alive. Did that mean Bran was too?

Jon waited for Rickon to jump into his elder brother's arms as soon as he had climbed the steps, but Rickon didn't. He stopped a few feet away from Jon, and looked towards the commander, biting his lower lip nervously. Was Rickon looking to her for _permission_?

Was this the commander's way of threatening him? What did she want? Had she hurt his brother? He certainly seemed to obey her, but was that because of respect... or fear? Jon looked over his shoulder to the commander, waiting for her response. Would she deny them the reunion they so desired?

A long, torturous second later, Leksa gave her ascent with a small nod. It took Rickon less than a second to sprint towards Jon and jump into his arms, legs circling around Jon's waist. Rickon was much heavier than he remembered, but Jon could still lift him up in his arms.

He held Rickon tightly, afraid of ever letting him go in case Jon might lose the last family member he had left again. He closed his eyes in a brief moment of bliss, momentarily forgetting that he was in dangerous territory, that the Walkers Beyond-the-Wall even existed. For a few moments, all that mattered was that he had found Rickon, that Rickon was alive, that Rickon was okay.

His eyes flickered open eventually, and he saw a small smile on Leksa's face, one that vanished as soon as he saw it. Realising that the commander's intentions might not be pure when it came to Rickon, Jon snapped back to reality and placed his brother on the ground, a tender smile still gracing his lips.

"Have you been well?" he asked his little brother. He lowered his voice to a whisper so that the commander couldn't hear him. "Has she treated you kindly?"

Rickon nodded, still smiling madly. "I have. The Dagheda is teaching me how to be a warrior. I'll be a warrior in a few years now, Jon. Just like you and Robb and Father!" Rickon's expression sobered then, his eyes locked on Jon's boots. "We're still a family, aren't we? Even if they're dead?"

"Of course we are, Rickon," Jon said firmly, and ruffled Rickon's curls. "We'll always be family."

"Will you stay here?" Rickon asked hopefully, suddenly perking up.

Jon gave Rickon a regretful look, one that soured Rickon's mood considerably. "I can't. The Wall needs defending, Rickon. There are... monsters, Beyond-the-Wall, that I need to fight."

"Will the Dagheda help you fight them?" his little brother questioned. He had always been curious. Rickon looked to the Dagheda with the same hope in his eyes that he had given Jon.

Jon looked over his shoulder again at the commander, whose expression was still impassive. "She might. She has to ask the other commanders first," Jon told Rickon, who nodded.

"The Dagheda's nice," Rickon stated quietly. Though Jon didn't mean to, he raised an eyebrow, to which Rickon responded with a small, childish chuckle. "Really. She might seem... scary, but she'll help you if she can."

"I'll glad to hear it." If his brother thought so highly of the commander, then maybe Leksa wasn't as untrustworthy and cruel as he thought her to be? Jon rested a hand on the back of his brother's neck. "Hey, how about you back to training so I can watch you fight, hm?"

His little brother nodded eagerly. "I'd like that!" he declared. His cheerful expression was replaced with a more dour, respectful one when he stepped away from Jon and in front of the Dagheda. "Moin cosa gon haun, Dagheda?"

The commander gave him a nod. "Hon cosa gaun haun, Rickon."

With that, Rickon gave Jon one last huge smile before dashing away from the commander and Jon. The two of them stood at the edge of the balcony as they watched Rickon return to his fight with the young girl. They fought well, the both of them, but Rickon was always one step ahead of his opponent.

"Was that a threat?" Jon voiced his concern to the commander in a calm voice, though he felt his voice shake a little.

"No," Leksa said firmly. " _That_ was a gesture of good will. You may speak with your brother as much as you like, as long as you don't interfere with his training. And if you take him _anywhere_ without my permission, there will be consequences. Do you understand, crow?"

Anger blazed within him. Rickon was _his_ brother, yet this _stranger_ believed that she could tell him _when_ and _where_ he could see his brother? His fists clenched by his sides and his nostrils flared, and Jon was fully aware that his eyes were probably betraying the rage burning within him. But he couldn't do or say anything to damage the potential alliance with the Skagosi. Jon nodded stiffly.

There was silence for a few minutes as they watched Rickon disarm his opponent, knock her to the ground and then press his sword to her neck. Jon's heart raced. Could his little brother truly stick a sword through an innocent girl's neck? If that was how the other children behaved, why should Rickon be immune to the commander's teachings?

His grip on the balcony's wall tightened, his palms becoming sweaty. But, surprising even Jon, Rickon pulled his sword away and offered the girl a hand, which the young warrior accepted gratefully. Jon let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Rickon wouldn't become a killer today, and he was thankful for that. His youngest brother was much too young.

Jon moved his eyes to the commander, whose face had its usual impassive expression, but her eyes blazed with anger and... worry, perhaps. Her hands had balled into fists as she watched Rickon escort the girl to the healer to have her wounds tended to.

"We will not harm him," Leksa spoke finally, still watching Rickon like a hawk. "You have my word on that. I know that our reputation precedes us, but we do not harm children in Skagos."

"No," Jon replied, sarcasm seeping into his voice. "You just order them to fight one another to the death."

Leksa turned towards him, her eyes narrowed and fierce. Jon wasn't sure if it was the rage in her eyes or the black paint that surrounded them, but he was suddenly afraid.

"All of those children are given a _choice_ ," Leksa told him. "They all knew of the fate that could befall them when they agreed to become my ward. Your brother too. If your brother dies, it will be regrettable, but he will die a warrior's death. I will protect him from anything but that."

Once again, Jon felt uneasy about this alliance, but forced his opinions to turn to ash in his mouth. This was their only option. This was their only chance at defeating the White Walkers.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Whatcha think? I hope yall enjoyed it! Leave a review or PM me – I love hearing what you think!_


	2. Blood Must Have Blood

**Chapter Two**

 **Blood Must Have Blood**

Leksa stared out her window at the happenings below. The leaders of the other twelve clans rode into her city on their horses, backs straight and posture proud. Her eyes were glued to one leader in particular. Mundon kom Raumshaq – the Magnar of the Ravenswood. The other two magnars looked to him as their leader. As much as she hated herself for it, Leksa felt threatened by him. He was older and stronger than her and came from a family of lords, while Leksa was the daughter of a whore.

"Ellek," Leksa greeted as he walked into the small dining hall that doubled as a conference room. " _Have all the leaders arrived?_ "

" _Most of them, heda. Ryk kom Traudon has taken ill and sends his apologies along with his son, Ragon."_

"Who he hopes will be heda after him, no doubt,"

Leksa deadpanned. The hedas from Traudon were often related, a tradition which Leksa found herself hating even though many clans practised nepotism.

" _Will you give him your blessing?"_

That was one of the requirements of the coalition. Before the coalition, the commander decided on his or her successor and no else had a say. Leksa made it one of her terms that she would have the final say on who would succeed a dying commander.

" _If he asks during these meetings, I will have to. We need every vote we can get."_

"So you trust the crow,"

Ellek summarised, sounding a little disappointed.

" _Trust, no. Do I agree with him? Yes,"_ Leksa replied. _"There have been too many stories of Walkers in the past few years to not believe him. They attacked Hardhome, Ellek. Whose to say that we're not next?"_

Her advisor pursed his lips. _"The other clans' leaders will not see it that way. Mundon will not see it that way."_

" _I couldn't give a damn about what Mundon thinks,"_ Leksa said, her temper rising. _"I am the Dagheda. And if he disobeys me, I will remind him of what happened last time he disrespected me."_

"I don't think he needs to be reminded, heda,"

Ellek replied slowly.

She pressed her lips together, having no more to say on the subject. Just then, the Lord Commander joined them in the dining hall, accompanied by the wildling Tormund.

"Commander," Jon greeted, getting onto his knees to greet her.

Leksa inclined her head in response. "Crow." The Lord Commander stiffened at that, but Leksa paid him no mind and turned to the Giantsbane, who refused to kneel or even incline his head. A true wildling. Leksa would not begrudge him that. "You will represent the wishes of the Free Folk beyond the wall, I'm presuming."

"You presume right," the Giantsbane responded gruffly.

The commander eyed him for a moment before speaking again. "The other hedas will be willing to listen to you, but the magnars will be reluctant. Especially one Mundon kom Raumshaq. He will argue with you at every opportunity just because he knows I back your plea. Make sure to argue back. If you're unable to counter his arguments, the other leaders will think that your weak and there will be no chance of them agreeing to fight with you."

"I can argue," Jon stated, nodding.

"No insults, no questioning his strength or manliness. That will just offend him," Leksa warning.

"What's wrong with offending him? He sounds like a cunt," Tormund added.

A small smile appeared on the commander's face. "That he is, but the other two magnars look to him as their leader. If you want their vote, you'll make sure not to offend him."

" _The rest of the leaders are waiting outside. Should I send them in, heda?"_ Ellek asked his commander.

Leksa gave a short nod along with a warning look to Jon and Tormund. She gestured to two seats beside hers. Standing by their chairs, the three watched silently as the clans' leaders pooled into the dining room. Each one of the hedas had done their best to appear as frightening as possible, with either black, red or white paint smeared across their face. Leksa couldn't judge them. After all, she did the same. Few had seen the commander without black makeup smeared across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Hedas ruled through fear. Without fear, they were nothing.

The magnars, however, were a different story. Their faces were plain, though their furs and clothing matched that of the other magnars. The only difference was the way they held themselves; regally, proudly, as though this was all beneath them.

" _You all know why you're here,"_ Leksa began once everyone had taken a seat. _"We have an important matter at hand. Jon kom Kagasi has come to warn us about an impending threat. The Cold Ones. He has come to ask us for warriors. The attack on Hardhome has proven that the sea is not a suitable barrier to protect us from them. The only way to protect ourselves is by destroying this threat. I will ask you to vote now, fellow leaders, so we can use the rest of this meeting to make arrangements rather than waste time arguing. All in favour for joining the Kagasi and our fellow Free Folk in the fight against the Walkers?"_

Each one of the hedas raised their hand. A chorus of 'aye' echoed through the dining hall. The only hands that remained still belonged to the three magnars. Leksa expected as much.

The man sitting opposite Leksa barked a humourless laugh and sneered at the young commander. Mundon of the Ravenswood spoke lowly, each word carrying a threat. _"What foolishness. We have no business fighting in a war that does not concern us. The Cold Ones live in a realm far from ours. Or can they fly?"_

Leksa spotted the other two magnars smirking and shot them a venomous glare. _"They made it to Hardhome, did they not?"_

"Bullshit," Mundon growled. _"What proof have we that the Cold Ones sacked Hardhome other than by garbled word of mouth?"_

" _Jon kom Kagasi was a witness-"_

Mundon snarled at her. _"And of course our young heda believes him. You were always weak for a pretty face."_

Her hand itched for the handle of her sword. _"Weak? You dare to call your commander weak?"_

"I dare speak the truth, heda,"

Mundon argued. _"You have lost your touch."_

"Have I? Perhaps I ought to kill another one of your sons to prove that I have not 'lost my touch,'"

Leksa snarled.

" _You little bitch!"_ Mundon roared. _"What right has the daughter of a whore-"_

"What right?"

Leksa repeated, standing up suddenly. The Magnar stood up with her, making her aware of his significantly larger build. _"I am the Dagheda! And the next time you speak against me will be the last time you speak at all! Now, sit down and listen!"_

" _I will not! I refuse to sit by and watch the Skagosi become the bitches of crows! All because our heda wants to suck crow cock-"_

Leksa had enough. The sharp sound of steel scraping against its sheath punctured the ears of those around them as Leksa unshielded her sword. The point of the sword was pressed against Mundon's neck, deep enough to draw blood but shallow enough to not cause damage. For some reason, Leksa imagined Jon's reaction to this little escalation. He probably had no idea what they were saying, and now, suddenly, they were acting like savages. The rest of the leaders were looking at them calmly, some even bored. Violence was a normal occurrence at any meeting in Skagos.

" _You will not die today, Magnar,"_ Leksa promised, caressing Mundon's neck with the blade. The Magnar was unaffected by the sword pressed against his neck, his face a mixture of calmness and anger. _"In fact, I'm going to gift you that which you've long desired."_

"And what's that... heda?"

Leksa did her best to ignore how he said the final word mockingly.

" _Revenge,"_ she whispered, smirking at the way his face morphed from anger to shock. _"Yes, that's right. Revenge for your sons. Choose your warrior. We'll fight at dusk. If I win, your people fight with us against the Cold Ones. If you win..."_

"I get your head,"

Mundon summarised.

Leksa nodded, unfazed, and even grinned. "Yes. So it shall be."

"So it shall be."

* * *

"What the hell happened in there?"

To say that Jon was confused was an understatement. One minute Leksa was politely explaining to the other leaders that they needed warriors and the next she had her sword pointed at the neck of the man she was arguing with.

"The Magnar was being an idiot," Leksa replied, walking in front of Jon who had to jog to keep up with her. "I put him in his place."

"I thought you said that we couldn't offend the Magnar," Jon pointed out, confused.

"Oh, _you_ can't," Leksa corrected, sending a small smirk over her shoulder. "I'm the Dagheda. I can do anything I please."

The commander rushed on. Jon sighed and continued to jog after her. "What did you say to him, while you were arguing? What did you say to him to make him grin like a madman?"

"Mundon wants my blood and I offered him a chance to take it," Leksa explained calmly. "I am to fight his son at dusk."

Jon stopped in his tracks. He had seen the Magnar's son. He was as tall and broad as his father, and doubled the commander in width. Leksa didn't stand a chance against the giants.

"Wait," Jon called after Leksa. The commander continued walking away. "Leksa, stop."

At that, Leksa's feet stopped without permission. She hadn't been called Leksa in a long time. The name seemed... _foreign_ to her. She should scold him for being so brazen, but for some reason the young commander liked the sound of her name on his lips. She turned around and faced the crow, face betraying nothing.

"Why are you doing this?"

"He insulted me in front of the other leaders. I told you, I am putting him in his place."

Jon was silent. Lips pressed together in a thin line, Jon truly looked at Leksa for the first time. During his time in Skagos Jon had learned a lot about the commander. She was strong and fierce and brave and frightening, and proud, so proud, but her most prominent characteristic was her devotion to her people.

"I don't think that's the real reason."

Leksa raised an eyebrow, curious. "No? The Magnar is my subject, he disrespected me. Don't you think its my duty to remind him of his position?"

"Maybe," Jon replied slowly. He stepped towards the commander almost warily. "But I don't think its a matter of duty. Forgive me, commander, but you don't seem like the type of person to risk your life over pride, and most certainly not the type of person to risk the stability of your people over a slight."

A ghost of a smile shadowed the commander's face. Jon admired the rare sight. She scarcely smiled, but when she did, it truly was something.

"I'm honoured that you think so highly of me, but that's what it is-"

"Don't lie to me," Jon interrupted. "You don't have to lie to me."

The commander observed him with narrow eyes, as though trying to figure him out. She then let out a small sigh. "It was the only way to ensure the magnars support us. He only responds well to force, it was how I got him to join the coalition. His son died because of his stubbornness before, and another son will die tonight because of his pride. Fitting, don't you think?"

"How are you so sure that you're going to win?" Jon asked once they had entered Leksa's chambers. If they were on the mainland, Jon wouldn't think of walking into a lady's room. But for some reason, Jon didn't think the Skagosi cared. "I've seen his son. He's a giants! He has muscles the size of a child."

"And they fight like children too, impatient children," Leksa countered. She stripped out of her cloak and day wear, leaving herself in a black vest and breaches.

"Sometimes sheer strength can trump skill," Jon argued, averting his eyes away from Leksa as she dressed.

"Now is not one of those times, trust me."

"If the Magnar's not fighting for himself, then why do you have to? You could choose anyone to fight on your behalf! Jamaun, Edd, any of them!"

"I am the Dagheda. No one fights for me," Leksa declared as she tightened the clasp of her armour, which only really protected her chest, stomach and shoulders.

Jon scoffed. "That kind of thinking will send you to an early grave."

"You haven't even seen me fight!" the commander stated. "You can make your judgement then, crow, and not a minute before."

"And what happens, huh? If you do die?"

"If that is to be my fate then you must accept it," Leksa said, her voice a tad softer than it had been.

"I can't accept that," Jon admitted. Leksa looked at him in shock. Stuttering, the crow continued on in explanation. "We've come too far with our negotiations."

"My successor will be chosen wisely, I assure you," Leksa promised. "And I have made all of my possible successors promise to uphold the terms of our treaty. Even if I die tonight, your cause will not be abandoned by my people."

"Thank you, Leks– _commander_ ," he corrected quickly. "For everything you've done."

Leksa smiled at him. "I did it for my people too, you know."

"Still. You've made an impossible task that much less impossible," Jon said, smiling. "So I thank you, commander."

She bit her lower lip and said in a softer tone so unlike her usual voice, "Leksa. My name is Leksa."

* * *

As Leksa walked into the fighting pit, sword by her side, her mind brought her back to a time where she was in a similar situation. Six years ago, at the young age of sixteen, when she had to kill five others of the same age and capabilities. She murdered every one of them in cold blood, including Mundon's eldest son, the ideal choice for a Dagheda, even though their people despised the thought of a magnar's son leading them. He had been strong and violent, but lacked skill. Just like the Magnar's second son who she also killed, and his third son who Leksa would kill today.

The crowd roared for their commander. She didn't look at him, didn't show fear or a desire to be cheered. The desire to be liked was a weakness, just as fear or love were weaknesses. She couldn't afford to be seen as weak.

The Magnar's son – Ragvar – stood at the opposite end of the fighting pit. He glared at her with such anger in his eyes that she half-expected to be burnt to ash. He too was relishing this chance for revenge. Leksa refused to be intimidated or allow guilt to distract her from the task at hand.

She spotted Jon in the crowd, standing at the very front. Leksa almost smiled at the worry in his eyes. _So the crow cares about the commander of savages. What a turn of events._ Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by the blow of a horn.

Before she could gather her bearings, Ragvar was rushing towards her with a loud battle cry. Leksa had time to recover and rushed towards him too. She saw no need for battle cries, not when her reputation was frightening enough.

Ragvar swung the sword towards her, aiming for her neck. Had Leksa not moved in time, she would have been headless. She threw back her head and torso, barely missing the blade of the sword. She swung her sword towards his back, but Ragvar recovered quickly and spun around on his heel, matching Leksa's sword with his own.

Their swords became locked in a parry Leksa pushed with all her might, trying to free herself from this entanglement, but it was no use. It had become a battle of strength, to see who could overpower the other. Leksa wasn't much in the area of strength. And she was losing, badly. Her own blade was only mere inches from her neck. Seeing no other option, she gripped Ragvar's sword with her bare hand.

The pain was excruciating. The blade had ripped open her skin, causing blood to mar his sword and drip onto hers. Leksa bared her teeth and growled before she could successfully move away from his sword and take her own sword away from her neck.

Not missing an opportunity, Ragvar didn't allow her time to recover. Straight away he had swung his sword, aiming this time for her stomach. Leksa matched his with her own sword. The sound of steel on steel pierced her ear. It became like a dance, the two of them trying to land a blow and the other trying to dodge, until Ragvar managed to slice Leksa on the face.

Her cheek stung and she could feel blood wetting her cheek and chin, but she ploughed on. Ragvar had the upper hand now and Leksa was the one backing away from him, uselessly trying to dodge his blows with her own sword. She hoped that eventually he would tire himself out. That's how she defeated his elder brothers. They were slow and lacked stamina. Ragvar, however, was as quick as her in his movements. An attribute Leksa hadn't anticipated.

She kept dodging blow after blow, only managing to land one blow on Ragvar's shoulder. It was a shallow cut, and it barely even caused him any pain. He lunged at her with his sword, this blow more powerful than the ones before. Leksa barely managed to parry it and forced Ragvar to stumble backwards, but Ragvar recovered quickly and aimed for her thigh. This time, she wasn't able to parry and Ragvar managed to slash her leg. Leksa let out a low scream as the blade pierced her skin. Ragvar swung his sword again at her, this time aiming for her stomach again. Leksa parried, but the blow was so powerful that she stumbled backwards and, having lost her footing, landed on the ground.

Leksa could feel her breaches becoming damp with blood. The pain in her leg was beyond simply agonising. She didn't think she'd be able to walk for a while after this fight, if she survived. _If_ she was survived. Staring up at Ragvar's angry face, Leksa became painfully aware of the fact that she might not make it out of this alive.

Ragvar stood on the blade of her sword and pushed it away so Leksa had nothing to defend herself with.

" _For my brothers,"_ he growled. "Jak drein, jak daun."

"Indeed," Leksa gritted out as the point of the sword sped towards her.

Leksa rolled out of the way, kicking her legs and tripping up Ragvar. He lost his footing and fell onto the ground, loosing his sword in the process. That gave Leksa enough time to pick up his sword which she used as an aid to stand up. She placed most of her body weight on her left leg and pointed her sword at his neck. Ragvar raised his hands, conceding defeat. It was a custom of the magnars, a way of living even if they lost the fight. Leksa never even thought of disgracing herself in that way. She refused to ever surrender. She'd rather die than live as a coward.

But, nonetheless, Leksa respected his surrender. Somewhat.

" _Now your fight has ended,"_ Leksa declared, loud enough for everyone in the crowd to hear her.

They expected her to kill Ragvar. But in one swift motion, the Dagheda surprised everyone by tossing her sword at Mundon kom Raumshaq.

The Magnar let out a yell as her sword landed in his gut. Blood spluttered from his mouth. In mere seconds, Mundon was dead. Leksa smirked and gestured for Jamaun and Edd to take Ragvar away. He went kicking and screaming.

Leksa wiped the blood from her nose and faced the crowd, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg and hand.

"Jak drein, jak daun! _For years, the Magnar has disrespected our customs, has disrespected his commander and has disrespected this coalition! No more! Let the Magnar's death symbolise an end of an old age, where those of old families reigned over Skagos! Undeserving, unelected and unchosen by the Gods and by our people! On this day and forever more, our leaders will not be those of_ _noble_ _blood, but those who are_ _deserving! And to those who cling to the old world, who expect us to bow to them because of who their father was, to those who have gotten away with terrible sins because of the nobility of their ancestors, I say..._ Jak drein, jak daun!"

"Jak drein, jak daun!"

Like a chant, the crowd repeated her words as Leksa watched, a small smile on her face as she observed what she hoped would be the start of a new age. She met the two remaining magnars' hateful glares with a challenging smirk. She had her people by her side, and their people would flock to her as well once word had reached them of her new agenda. They had no choice but to obey her in all things from now on, including the fight against the Walkers.

Leksa then looked at Jon Snow. He gave her a short nod, a small smile on his face that looked a lot like... relief, perhaps? Leksa nodded back at him, the corners of her mouth curling upwards in the smallest smile.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** I am so sorry about the yearlong wait! There's been a lot happening and I kind of lost interest in all my hobbies, unfortunately. But I'm back at it again! I've also started a new story that you guys might enjoy. It's called **Destruction** and it's Jon/OC/Daenerys, featuring a bisexual female OC._

 _Tell me what ya'll think about this chapter! How you feeling about Lekon... Jonksa... Lekson? Lekson!_


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